He Who Perseveres
by Sharptooth
Summary: The torture of an individual, the pushing of one to the point of breaking often reveals inner strengths. What might have happened had Ron been captured by the snatchers instead of escaping in the seventh book.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything other than the story line . All rights belong to J.K. Rowling

**He Who Perseveres**

_I tried to kill the pain_

_But only brought more_

_(So much more)_

_I lay dying_

_And I'm pouring_

_Crimson regret, and betrayal_

_I'm dying, praying_

_Bleeding, and screaming_

_Am I too lost to be saved_

_Am I too lost_

_--Tourniquet by Evanescence_

He couldn't believe how much he hurt. If only he could find a comfortable position. He tried to shift but something wouldn't let him. He tried again, but the pain in his shoulders became almost unbearable.

He tried to crane his neck to see what was going on. Pain lanced through his neck and shoulders anew. A low groan escaped from his lips. He tried again, slower this time. To his surprise his arms were stretched out above his head. He stopped to ponder his predicament.

He tried wiggling his left arm. It hurt like hell, but there was a clinking noise from above him. What in the name of Merlin could that be? Slowly, oh so slowly he raised his head so that he was starting to look up his arm. What were those red streaks down his arm? It almost looked like, no it couldn't be. But it sure did look like dried blood.

Almost with perverse curiosity he continued his upwards journey. His elbow looked to be at a very awkward angle. It almost looked dislocated. Maybe that explained why it hurt so much. He continued to gaze upwards. What was that on his wrist? It was circular, that was for sure. It seemed to be made of some sort of dull metal. The more he stared at it the more he was sure that it was a shackle. He tried to move his arm again. His eyes exploded in pain, but sure enough there came the tell-tale sound of metal clinking. He was manacled to the wall.

Well that was a sticky situation. How had it come to this? There was an explanation, he was sure, but it almost seemed that he was blocking it somehow. He wished he could remember what had happened.

As he was pondering this, he heard the clanking of a metal door opening. He wrenched his head back to its wanted position, but this only succeeded in causing him to scream as his fractured body pled with him to stop.

As his vision cleared he looked to see what was going on, all the while fighting to steady his breathing, as he realized that it was coming out in agonizing sobs.

A woman was approaching him. At one time she was probably quite beautiful, but now she was showing the ravages of a life that was dominated by insanity and inconceivable cruelty. Her lips were curled back in a sneer, and there was a wild, untamed look in her eyes. Her black hair, obviously once a crowning point to her appearance was plastered to her skull with sweat and grime.

She calmly walked up to him and cupped his chin in her hand. With her other hand she wiped some of the drool from his bottom lip. She then used her hand to smear that drool all over his face. She stepped back and smiled at him, reveling in her small act of abuse.

He looked at her questioningly. There was something very familiar about her, but he couldn't quite seem to place what it was. She looked him in the eyes, waiting for him to show some sign of recognition. When he didn't she screwed her face up in a mask of rage.

She reached over and started to run her fingers through his hair. With a quick motion she pulled back, hard. There came an intense pain throughout the top of his head, accompanied with a tearing sound. She waited for him to open his eyes and showed him a shock of red hair, the roots still attached to the tatters of what appeared to be his scalp.

He gasped as the pain shot through him, and she roughly grabbed his chin again, squeezing the sides of his mouth with insane strength. He yelped again, and when he did she shoved the hair, bloody roots and all into his mouth.

"Remember me, little weasel?" she asked in a voice that had once been seductive, but was now but a hoarse parody.

He spit out the hair as best as he could. Slowly, oh so slowly, a memory was forming, there at the back of his mind. "S… S… Sod off, b… bitch," he croaked as best as he could. It was hard to tell how well this came out, as he was as parched as he had ever been in his life.

He was rewarded with a ringing slap across his mouth that loosened a few of his teeth and cut his lip. He sucked on his lip for a moment, contemplating what might happen next.

"Be thankful little weasel, that my master wants you kept sane. It would be so easy to break your mind, but that wouldn't do. You must know what you are saying." She finished by cackling maniacally, then lashing out with a booted foot.

He felt the knee shatter as she connected with it. He screamed in agony, but it did him no good. "Tell me what I want and I promise that I'll end it quickly," she whispered in his ear. "I'll even repair some of the damage before I kill you. Who knows, you might even like what I can offer to you, little weasel."

"Go to hell," he spat out, trying to get her in the eye with his spittle, but missing terribly.

"Wrong answer," she said. She stepped back and pulled out a knife. She reached up and made a small incision in his right arm, just above the elbow. He let out a gasp of pain as a distinctly unpleasant feeling ran up his arm and into his shoulder.

"That was your bicep rolling up into your arm. In a little while your shoulder should give way, ripping out of its socket. It should be quite entertaining to see how long your other shoulder lasts."

He could feel the strain in his shoulder. Gods the pain was intense! He tried once again to shift to a better position. He was rewarded with another shooting pain that took his breath away.

"Just kill me now, bitch. I'll never give you the satisfaction…"

"Oh, I think you will, little weasel, it's just a matter of time," she hissed in his ear. "Oh, I think your shoulder's running out of time, I could fix that for you… just tell me where they are…"

"NEVER!" he screamed as his shoulder finally let go with a spurt of blood. He kept screaming until everything dissolved into blackness.

He woke screaming, disoriented by his continued ordeal. He twisted and wrenched trying to free himself, but only managed to smack the back of his head hard into a wall. As he stopped and tried to regain his senses, he realized that something was decidedly odd.

He looked around trying vainly to figure out why things seemed oddly distorted. He couldn't seem to shake the feeling of pressure in his head. He tried to reach and rub his face, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get his hand to co-operate.

Then he saw it, lying there on the ceiling above him. Above him? It sure looked that way. His arm was lying there on the ceiling in a pool of blood. How was that possible?

While he was busy contemplating this mysterious happening the sound of his cell door opening filtered its way through his consciousness. He looked to see a woman's stiletto heels walking across the ceiling towards him. He looked down and saw her standing there, upside down!

His confusion must have shown for she laughed. Not a healthy laugh at all. More the laugh of someone not quite in touch with reality. That was when it occurred to him that he was the one whose perspective was skewed. He was upside down. This explained much.

She strode up to him and slowly scratched down his thigh with a fingernail. "I wonder what it is that your little witch sees in you?" With a flick of her knife the last vestiges of his clothing fell past his face.

"Obviously this isn't what keeps her with you," she purred at him. "Not much of a man, are you little weasel? Let's see if we can make some improvements." She flicked her knife. His world exploded in pain.

"Tell me what I want to know," she said deliberately to him, making sure he could see the blood dripping from her blade. "Tell me where Potter and his witch are! Tell me damn you!" Her voice rose to a screech.

_Just let it end he thought. Just let me die. Let me die before it becomes too much. Let me die. Save me from all of this. Sweet Merlin, let me die!_

She seemed to sense his thoughts, maybe it was written on his face. Another flick of her knife brought even more pain to him. He didn't think it was possible to hurt this much. While he was busy screaming he almost didn't notice that she was staring intently at his feet.

As soon as he had stopped she grabbed his left foot and started doing something with her knife. Merlin it burned! What was she doing? He couldn't see, but he could surely feel it. He clamped his jaw shut, but it was no good. Sooner than he would have liked another scream wrenched its way through his jaws, his exhausted muscles no match for the exquisite torture she was applying.

Just when he would have sworn it could get no worse the pain lessened to an almost manageable level. He looked at her and tried to figure out what she was doing.

She stood there, calmly picking her teeth with something. What was it? She must have seen his expression, for she bent down and showed it to him. When he saw it his stomach lurched. She was picking her teeth with what was left of his toenail.

"You've got nine more you know," she said with sadistic glee. "I wonder how long you'll last? It can't be too much longer. Then you'll tell me what I want to know, and I'll set you free little weasel. Just a little more…"

He closed his eyes and fought to keep down the bile that was building in the back of his mouth. He felt the coldness of the steel blade as it brushed against his face. There was a casual flick and his face felt like it was being ripped off. He screamed once more.

As his screams died down, he realized what she had done. She had slit his nostril. He tilted his head back to keep the blood from going down into his sinuses.

"Did you like that? It was quite entertaining for me too. I've got an idea. Just tell me what I want to know and you can be free. Just give in."

_Take me now, just take me before I break. Don't let me crack. Let me die. Please, please let me die. Am I too lost to be saved? I don't care, just let me die. _

Now now little weasel, I won't let you die until you give me what you want. Just give Auntie what she wants and you can rest. Just tell me where Potter and his little slitch are hiding."

"You want me Bella? You've got me."

He watched as she whirled around. He didn't see what happened but he heard a sickening crunch and watched her crumple to the floor, her head lolling at an impossible angle.

"I didn't crack Harry, I swear I didn't," he sobbed.

"It's alright mate, it's over, it's all over," his best friend whispered in his ear. "You can rest now, we'll get you home."

"Hermione, cut him down. Fred, George, help me with him…"


End file.
